Dear Mother
by rika195
Summary: It's after the war, and Sarah Phillips writes letters to her mother about some strange things that she is beginning to notice, the first being that she isn't aging! You get to respond in reviews as her mother, and she'll reply! Have fun!
1. Chapter 1

**Dear Mother**

**By Rika195**

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This story was inspired by Liberty's Kids, is about Liberty's Kids, and includes the characters from Liberty's Kids. It's a kid's TV show, and yet I watched it and laughed so hard that…well, I just have to put the things I thought were hilarious together as a story. I probably should mention that Liberty's Kids does not belong to me, and that I own no rights or whatever, and etc, etc, etc. Lame disclaimer, but honestly, this is just fanfiction. And it isn't going to disobey any rules.

The chapters of this story will be short, so I'm sorry about that. I'll try to make them as interesting as possible. There's just not many ways you can draw out a personal letter, but I'll do my best. I hope you enjoy it as much as I find it hilarious to write.

**Summary:** It is after the war, and Sarah Phillips writes letters to her mother about some strange things that she is beginning to notice, the first being that she isn't aging!

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NOTE: You must read this story with a British Accent, or else it just wont sound the same.

Now that that's all said, let's begin!

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Dear Mother,

It's been a while since I wrote you last. Well, it hasn't been _that _long, since I only just wrote you three days ago, but there's so much to write about that I hardly know where to begin! First, let me say thank you for your quick response to my last letter. Of course I was thrilled that you and Father have built a beautiful house in Ohio, and I look forward to coming home and seeing it. I'm sorry I haven't been there in a couple weeks, but I am just so glad that you both understand my need to come here and visit Dr. Franklin for a short while. He's been so kind to me, and he isn't doing very well lately. I will come home soon, I promise.

I saw James this morning. He hurried in only long enough to eat all the breakfast I'd made and then swept out again. That boy is always on the go now, trying to earn money to buy his own Newspaper. Actually, seeing him got me thinking, and it's the reason I'm writing you so soon. You see Mother, I noticed something very striking, very shocking, and frankly very terrifying while I was studying him. And don't go on about THAT again! I don't just study _James_, Mother. I study _people. _I'm an artist too, you remember. And anyhow, I was studying James' youthful face when something very unsettling stuck me. I have been here in America for a long time now, since the War started in 1774. It is now 1784, ten years later. That's a long time, isn't it? Why, I was just 15 years old when I first arrived and James rescued me from the Boston Tea Party...that is...when James _rudely _dragged me off the ship and made me lose Father's locket... Oh but I forgave him for that. He was so sweet to turn his mother's ring into a new locket for me...

But I digress. Mother what I am trying to say is that I looked in the mirror just today and noticed…well…

MOTHER I'M NOT GROWING ANY OLDER!

I can just hear you telling me not to be silly, Mother, but it's direly true. Looking back, over all those years we were at war with England, I remember times when I wondered why I wasn't growing any taller. I decided then that I must simply be shorter than most women, and I didn't worry about it. But then I noticed that my features weren't changing either! My hair, face, body, everything was exactly the same as it was when I first arrived! I thought I must be mistaken, for how could that be? I refused to worry about it, for I understood that for some girls, they just grow slower than others. And while I was embarrassed about it, I was too caught up in the War to be bothered by it. I just let it go. But I look at myself now and see the same things I saw ten years ago, that absolutely nothing has changed. What can it mean? It was embarrassing then, when I was supposed to be turning 18, but now at 25, how much MORE so!

Oh Mother I am so distressed! I hope you can provide some kind of answer for me. Is it just that I grow slower? Or perhaps, I am one of those women blessed with a young face for my first 30 years of life? Perhaps you experienced something of this sort when you were young? But none of those questions cover how extreme this is. I am too old to look like a teenager...I should be married now, with a family of my own, not staring at my reflection and wondering when I will _look _like a woman. Oh dear…I just looked in the mirror and… and I can't stand it! This is so horrible! Please give me some kind of reply soon! I don't know how much more of this my mind can handle!

Looking forward to your swift reply,

Sarah Phillips

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Got a reply for the poor girl? Write it down in part of your review, (you have to actually review the story) and she'll respond to whatever you say in the next chapter. What a fun way for you to participate! Right? I just ask that you be appropriate in your responses. Sarah doesn't approve of rude behavior.

Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Dear Mother**

**By Rika195**

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Thank you **Brad Rousse** and **bored2pieces2** for your reviews! You guys rock!

For everyone else...

I guess you people don't understand that you can reply to Sarah directly if you like. Not that you have to, but it could be fun, doncha think? For example, if you put in your review: "I think it's because you're a cartoon character", or "maybe you're an alien!" or whatever you want, Sarah will respond with what she thinks about that. All clear? So feel free to say _whatever_ you like, and actually get to see that in the story! So have fun.

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NOTE: You **must **read this story with a British Accent, or else it just wont sound the same.

Now that that's all said, let's begin!

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Dear Mother,

Thank you for replying to my letter with such haste. I have been very put out, and it encourages me so that you take me seriously. I cannot explain how relieved it makes me feel that you did not tell me I was being silly or childish for what I said. But it also makes me very worried. It means, Mother, that you cannot deny it is true. Surely you have noticed, although nobody else has seemed to. Do you not find that strange? That any time I have brought the up the idea that I have not grown any older, no one else notices. They have all told me that I am being ridiculous. Well I tell you I am not, and thank you for agreeing with me.

I must say though, your reply was very confusing. How short it was, and how vague! All you spoke about was ordinary daily things! And though I am delighted to hear about the changes you have made at home, the new curtains and such, it makes me very worried. What is it you are hiding from me? Please be honest with me. I am put out!

There is, also, the small answer that you DID give me. You said, and I quote, "My darling Sarah, do not worry about your apparent lack of changes, for what a blessing it is to be young!" And that is all you have said about the matter. That is not at all the kind of answer I am looking for. Although, you did seem to hint that Mr. Franklin would know more about this. What could he know? And why? Surely there is more behind this, more that you yourself know. So why do you not tell me?

Oh Mother, I am so anxious.

I spoke with James again today. Perhaps I should not have opened my mouth, but I could not help it. I told him about my age, and my looks. I was so distressed with your letter that I was crying as I spilled out my whole theory and fear on the issue. Pacing the floor, yelling uncivilly about how horrible this is, I must have looked such a child to him! And he stood there, so quiet, watching me as he never has before. But I have never cried like that in front of him, in all of my years of knowing him. So how could I expect him to take it? By the time I was finished, I collapsed on the ground weakly, all of my strength drifting away like steam. I felt like such a fool.

But like a gentleman, he came forward hesitantly and placed his jacket about my shoulders. His face was concerned, and by the look in his eyes I could tell that he was not dismissing me like a child. He was taking me seriously. James Hiller, of all people...I felt such relief at his response! He was a dear friend to me then, and I remembered all that we have experienced together during the War. It made me glad to remember that I very much appreciate him as dear friend of mine. He has grown so much, though he has not grown in appearance. He looks as changed as I myself. None at all. Which is strange, because everyone else has changed with time. Everyone except James and myself. Why?

"You noticed too," he said to me softly, after giving me a chance to calm down. His words startled me, and I looked up at him in surprise. He laughed. "I thought it was just me," he continued awkwardly. "Or maybe that I was just not seeing the changes in myself...in you." He sat down beside me, and together we stared at nothing in particular, thinking about our strange situation.

"Oh James," I sighed, feeling lost. "What are we to do? If we have truly not grown in all these years, what does it mean? It is only you and I, who have not changed. I have seen everyone else grow, even Henri. And yet here we are, unchanged as stone. I would have gone on believing that I was simply not noticing the changes until I saw you last week and noticed that the two of us look the same as that day I first arrived here in America. It distresses me so!"

"Same. But it's worse, because unlike us, even stone changes," James argued, but he grew serious, his eyebrows drawing close together in consternation. "But why? I asked Mr. Franklin about it, but he just acted like I hadn't even spoken. He changed the subject and talked about something else. And no matter what I said, he wouldn't answer me. So now what? I don't like it. I wanted to have my own Newspaper by now...I wanted to be grown...on my own....I wanted to be...to be..." his face reddened, and he pressed his lips together and said no more.

And I wondered at him. Did he feel as I have felt? That he too would want to be married by now? My heart went out to him. How horrible it must be, to never become a man, even after you have spent all the years and trials to get there. It is worse even than for me, for though I am young, I could still be married if I wanted. I touched his shoulder with my hand, wanting to comfort him, but what could I say?

We sat there in silence until it was time for him to leave. He stood without a word and left, leaving his jacket with me.

That is when I began this letter, and now I must say. If you do not tell me what has happened to the two of us, then I will be in torment. Answer me Mother; answer me soon! I beseech you, if you have ever loved me, to tell me what you know. For Mr. Franklin, it seems, will not.

In ever-growing fear till your reply,

Sarah Phillips

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Got a reply for the poor girl? Write it down in part of your review, (you have to actually review the story) and she'll respond to whatever you say in the next chapter. What a fun way for you to participate! Right? I just ask that you be appropriate in your responses. Sarah doesn't approve of rude behavior.

I know why this is happening, of course, so I don't expect you to come up with it. But if you have anything you'd like to tell her, any ideas, then you can put them in a reply to her. It will be fun for me to make them a part of the story. For, just as you and Sarah do not know what is wrong....Sarah's mother might not know either! Only I and Mr. Franklin seem to know.

Thanks!

Until next time then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dear Mother**

**By Rika195**

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**

Thank you

**Blaise Skylark**:

**scooby-doo's girl**:

**Rebecca Cunningham**:

**NekoDoodle:**

**Second daughter of Eve:**

for your reviews! You guys rock!

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NOTE: You **must **read this story with a British Accent, or else it just wont sound the same.

Now that that's all said, let's begin!

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Dear Mother,

Thank you for taking such haste in replying to me. I apologize for taking so long to respond, but so much has happened I can hardly express it!

First let me say that I am strangely confused by your letters. You seem to know even more than you let on about my—and James—strange and horrible predicament. I was very comforted when you at first made all haste to suggest me coming home and having James and I examined by doctors, but you must not make yourself sick with worry. I think I am much safer here.

But then, your following letters…they are frightening I must admit! To hear that your neighbors found out, and even worse, that they are whispering about vampirism! It chills me to the bone. It cannot be true! No, it is not. I have never once had a desire for the unspeakable! Please, do not let such rumors continue to spread, I could never bear it!

I'm sorry for being so forward in my letter, but I cannot help it. I am horribly put out.

But oh Mother…do not say not to worry about you. How can I not? I worry about you and Father all the time! How frightening this must be for you as well. But no, I must assure you that it is only James and myself who are thus afflicted.

Oh, dear James. He has been such a comfort to me these past weeks. I am glad that you take comfort in this as well. As for Dr. Franklin, he has been anything but helpful! He refuses to speak to me or James about it, calling me a silly child and hiding away in his room. He is very sick these days, and I know I should not bother him, but he is hiding something, I am sure of it! If only he would tell me.

You say that we will age once we learn what is wrong. Is that the truth? Can you not tell me? I do not know how else I can figure it out! Perhaps you are only trying to comfort me. Oh, well. I suppose I must try to sort through this on my own.

Oh but Mother! How things have happened! I must tell you all about it before I run out of time. It all began when Dr. Franklin fell ill and hid away in his room. I was staying to take care of him—I still am—and making sure that he was fed and medicated, and not overwhelmed by guests. It is such a bother to accept guests for him and be a host to them for tea. But I am good at it, thanks to your training. As I was saying, it was just after one such visit from Mr. and Mrs. Wellingford, when a horrible rainstorm began. They were anxious to get home, and I was anxious to make sure there were enough coals in the fire for Dr. Franklin's bed. When just then, someone came through the door.

It was James, and he was soaked to the bone! I called him in at once and closed the door, ordering him to sit in front of the fire and get warm. He grabbed my arms and would not let go, and I ending up looking up into his eyes in surprise. They were so bright…so intense! I had never noticed before. We were frozen, standing before the fireplace, eyes locked, for such a long moment. Then…he broke it.

"Sarah," he whispered urgently, using my first name as he hadn't done for years. "I've figured something out!"

You can imagine how this made me feel. I confess I felt faint, and my heart raced inside my chest! "What is it?" I demanded, pulling back and seating myself on a chair. I was not very comfortable so close to him. "What have you found?"

He paced in front of the fire animatedly, running a hand through his wet blonde hair. "The locket," he said, frowning slightly and looking at me. "Do you still have it?"

I reached a hand to my neck, where the crude locket lay against the nape of my collarbone. "Yes, I have it," I replied. "I wear it always…" I hoped the flickering fire and fading light outside would disguise my slight blush. "It has pictures of my parents."

"Good," James sighed. He turned away slightly, but I could tell that it made him pleased I still wore it. "Henri and I made it, you recall," he said slowly, "from a ring I once owned."

"Yes," I answered. "I have never forgotten your gift. Thank you."

"Well…" he coughed. "That's…never mind that…There was a carving inlaid in the gold of the ring, and we managed to preserve it on the front of the locket. Is it still there?"

I nodded.

"May I see it?"

I was curious what this was all about, and I hastily unclasped and handed him my locket. He took it and studied it intently, running his thumb over the carving on the front of the gold with such fond gentleness and warmth, that I could not help staring. I can not understand how I have missed his hidden gentleness all these years… but I digress again.

James turned back to me and gave it back. "It's there," he said, smiling. "Sarah, I have been inquiring about…our strange condition, if I can call it that. And in doing so, I came upon the name of my father."

"Your father?" I blurted, standing up. "You have? How exciting that must be! You never knew much about him, did you? Tell me what you have learned!"

James laughed, and made sure I sat down before he positioned himself in front of the fire's warmth—just enough to the side so that I too could enjoy the heat. "It is," he agreed. "Exciting, I mean. It's like this: I learned that my father came from a family of great wealth—wealth he abandoned in England when he married my mother. She was a peasant woman from Spain, and they traveled here to America to escape my father's family."

"You're not serious!" I breathed.

"I am," he said, voice rising slightly as he wove his tale—he always gets excited telling a story. "And get this: The fire was caused by hired assassins to kill my father."

"Whatever for? How do you know?"

"I found a journal," James declared, pulling forth an old leather book that looked burned and very weathered. "It was my father's journal, and after Mr. Franklin rescued me and took me in, he began to write in it too. It details everything! Mr. Franklin spent a great deal of money to find out the whole story. And then…" here he paused, and gingerly opened the book and cleared his throat. "I'll read it to you—in Mr. Franklin's words. He says: 'I have made another discovery from Mr. Hiller's belongings of which I can tell no one. One time I was sure that knowledge should be imparted to all people. I am not so sure anymore. For this discovery will change the world as we know it if it is true.' There. You see?"

I shook my head. "Read on, James. I see nothing."

He sighed, annoyed, but read on. "It becomes clear. Here: '…I may have done something terrible, or I may have saved a child from death. How am I to be sure it is possible? There is no way of determining if this legend is but a myth or in actuality, a truth, except to test it out. I would do it to myself except that I must study how it works. There is no other person more deserving of this ingenuity than his very own son: James.' That's me." He flipped through the pages.

"What is it that Mr. Franklin has done to you?" I gasped, feeling a tightness in my stomach. "What can it be? Myth? He makes it seem as though he has found something incredible!"

James nodded, then stopped turning pages. "Ah, here: 'It has been three months since I gave the serum to young James. I have seen no change as of yet, but I will continue to watch for such. I have sent him and Moses to pick up a young acquaintance of mine that will be staying with us. I do hope for her sake that she likes it here.'" He flipped two pages. "Here again: 'It is only the second day since young miss Phillips has arrived, but she has not waken from her fever. With Moses, James, and Henri still in New York getting the parts for the press, and the doctor himself ill, I have no where to turn for her aid. What ever can I tell her parents if she dies? Unless… the serum… it is my only hope.'"

He stopped, and I sat up straighter. "I remember no fever," I whispered.

James locked eyes with me gravely, then glanced down at the book in his hands. "Listen: 'It has been only a day since I administered the serum, and already she is as well as when she first arrived. She does not remember being sick. I can only watch to see how it will affect her, and hope that it will only do her well. I will not tell a single soul about this remedy until I am sure that there are no serious repercussions.'" He closed the book and met my eyes again. "And that is the last entry."

I held a hand to my collarbone, stricken to silence.

James sighed and slipped the book into his pocket. "I found it in a chest with my name on it, in Mr. Franklin's study. It was locked, but I broke into it anyway. It was mine, after all." He shifted his weight. "What do you make of that?"

I shook my head. "What can I say? What serum is this? It must be what has kept both you and me young all these years!"

"I agree," James said fervently. "It seems that we're in this together, you and me. I guess I'm lucky that it's you and not someone else…"

I was so bewildered by the revelation found in his father's journal that I was confused by his words. "Why would that matter?" I asked. "It's happened, regardless!"

He sighed, staring at the floor with his intense gaze. "Because," he stammered, ears turning bright red. "I _like _you." And then he lifted up his eyes and stared right into my face. I couldn't breathe! But then he laughed, like it was all a joke. "It'd be a drag if it was someone I didn't even like who was caught up in this mess with me. Don't you think?"

I found my breath again, when I realized he was teasing me. Or was he? "Yes," I said stupidly. I didn't say much more after that.

James left shortly after, and since then we have been trying—together—to find out what this serum is. If only Mr. Franklin were not so ill…then he could tell us!

Oh Mother, answer me quickly. What am I to do or think about all of this?

Your ever-doting daughter,

Sarah Phillips

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Thank you for reading.

Remember:

You can reply to Sarah directly if you like. Not that you have to, but it could be fun, doncha think? For example, if you put in your review: "I think it's because you're a cartoon character", or "maybe you're an alien!" or whatever you want, Sarah will respond with what she thinks about that. All clear? So feel free to say _whatever_ you like, and actually get to see that in the story! I will always have Sarah mention what you say in your reviews.

rika195


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